


Baking with Carmilla

by Levinter



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Baking, Carmilla Secret Santa, Christmas, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:37:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Levinter/pseuds/Levinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas present for ialexvause. I apologize for any mistakes.</p>
<p>Laura wants to bake. Carmilla isn't really into it. Flour is mean. The electric-oven spits out coal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baking with Carmilla

You're honestly not sure how the tiny human, who you also refer to as 'girlfriend', has managed to rope you into the menial task of baking cookies for a festivity you stopped celebrating decades ago. You think it might have to do with a classical pouting face and the promise of giving you whatever you wished for an entire day. (You would've agreed nonetheless, but you wouldn't dare voicing that in anyones vicinity, and Laura does have the habit to record everything.)

“...the butter.” Laura's voice rips you out of your musing and you answer with an eloquently put “Huh?” much to her chagrin.

“Hand me the butter, Carmilla.” Laura says, again, with a huff. You glance at the wrapped little package of butter with distaste before handing it to your girlfriend. Laura proceeds to unwrap it, with a dour taste in your direction – obviously displeased at your lack of help, but you aren't deterred, really.

The procedure of mixing all ingredients together goes along without any mishaps (though, in your many years at Silas you learned not to trust the scenery, especially when you are trying to do nice and 'happy' things inside the university) until Laura asks for you to put the flour into the bowl. You naturally roll your eyes, but you pick up the bowl of measured flour anyway and start pouring it into the the mixing bowl in Laura's possession. Mixer in hand, turned to medium, Laura thanks you with a smile (and if your heart could beat, it probably would make somersaults right now) and then there's a loud noise, like a screech and the oven on the far side of the Home Economics' kitchen is spitting out small clumps of coal (which is strange on itself, it's an electric-hearth, there shouldn't be any coals in there). This doesn't bother you, but Laura jumps, her finger accidentally switches the hand-mixer on it's highest setting, which in turn surprises you and the rest of the flour falls into the mixing-bowl. 

Suddenly you are surrounded by white flying particles of ground corn, which you swat away without success. Laura is doing almost the same, but she is also busy rubbing at her eyes (well, she was standing directly behind the mixer, she naturally had to get the brunt force of a flour-bomb on her body). Unconsciously you start chuckling at your girlfriend who seems to be covered – doused – in flour and a wayward splatter of raw cookie-dough. (Thankfully most of the dough is still in the bowl and on the mixer, no longer kneading through the dough and instead twirling outside with sounds that sound like it's short-circuiting)

“Are you okay?” You ask, voice laced with amusement. Laura coughs, finally opens her eyes and blinks once, twice and then focuses on you. And then she's the one laughing.

It comes to you that you probably don't look any cleaner, considering your fashion choice of Black and Goth. With a silent huff you grab the nearest towel and proceed to eliminate the remnants of flour on your face (You have baked before, there would be literally no way to get flour out of your shirt unless it's in the washing machine) before you throw the towel on your girlfriends face, who was still chuckling.

“I-I'm sorry, Carm..” The humans wheezes past her amusement.

“When you are done laughing, can we finish this, cupcake.” It's not a question, you both know that and Laura nods her head.

You save what you can from the dough and – you thank whichever deity there is – the rest from this unwanted baking-experience goes over without any more ingredient-accidents. Laura hums as she squats in front of the oven, watching over the baking cookies (worst thing to happen, the cookies would get burnt) as you sit next to her, phone in hand and scrolling through a list of books you read already. You don't notice Laura moving closer (which is sad considering you are a vampire, but you shove it onto being comfortable around her).

“Thank you for doing this with me, Carm.” Her voice is gentle and you meet her gaze steadily. 

“Mention it to Xena and it's the last time.” Is your response and Laura chuckles, kisses your cheek with soft lips and returns to her cookie-watch.


End file.
